


Bottle It Up

by orphan_account



Category: Banjo-Kazooie Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kazooie is both infuriated and intrigued by Evil Bottles as she ponders his true motives.  Set during Banjo Tooie, Bottles' Revenge mode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottle It Up

Now, I'm the first to admit that I'm not the most patient bird in the world.  I'll put up with Banjo because, well, he's my best friend, and that's what friends _do_ \-- but if you're not a honey bear a few combs short of a hive, I'm not the one you want to deal with.

Especially if you happen to be a certain geeky mole-- a geeky _dead_ mole, I might add.  Sure, lots of people piss me off, starting with ol' Grunty herself and running the gamut from that simpering Honey B through the Nibbly-crap-insane Canary Mary right down to holier-than-thou Master Jiggywiggy and that smitten disciple of his.  But no one, and I mean _no one_ , can piss me off like Bottles can.

Unless it's _Evil_ Bottles _._

You know, I thought having to deal with his brother would be bad enough.  (In case you haven't noticed, I have a real issue with authority figures, and I did _not_ sign up to be in Jamhead's army.)  But no, Banjo, bless his annoyingly-compassionate heart, had to go check on Bottles' spirit one last time-- just in time for Beetle-Breath to go evil on us.

And now we're stuck with him.

It's bad enough that he follows us around, floating over Banjo's head like a big glowing traffic light.  But what's even worse are the _noises_ \-- the evil laughs and the stereotypical ghostly moans every time he takes over or leaves the body of an enemy.  The only time we get any peace is when we have to deal with a boss enemy, and even then, it's just for a few moments before Dead Boy turns up again.

I tried to put him out of my mind, and it worked for a while-- until last night.  We were camping out in the Wooded Hollow, up on the plateau by Jiggywiggy's temple.  Puzzle Boy said we could, since it's just about the only place in the whole Isle o' Hags not overrun with monsters. . . unless you count Bottles' house of course, but I wasn't about to spend the night there.  It creeped me out that none of them could see the ghost of dear old Dad two feet in front of their myopic little faces-- plus, Mrs. Bottles drives me _up.  The.  Wall._   It almost makes me feel sorry for him, knowing _that's_ what he had to come home to.  No wonder he hung out at our place all the time instead.

Anyway, Goldy's temple was all shut up for the night though, of course; even the lowly disciple got to go inside, probably to fawn over Jiggywiggy's dirty socks or something.  Until dawn, it was just us heroes out there.  To help pass the time, I'd engaged my best friend in a discussion of the proprietor of the temple.  Unfortunately, Banjo disagreed with my evaluation.

"Kazooie," he said patiently, "Jiggywiggy is not a pimp."

"How can you say that with a straight face?" I squawked back.  "His name is _Jiggy.  Wiggy._   _Master_ Jiggywiggy!  Come _on_.  And besides that, look at his clothes-- he wears a _cape,_ for gosh sakes!  And that big brooch, not to mention the _gold head_ \--"

"What does his head have to do with anything?"

I sighed and looked over at my arch-nemesis.  "As much as I hate asking for _your_ help, back me up here, Dead Boy.  Jiggywiggy is a pimp."

Evil Bottles gave that creepy dead-guy laugh he'd picked up.  "If he's a pimp, where's all the girls?"  He grinned at me lasciviously, reminding me that this wasn't the normal, boring dork of a mole I was used to.  "I didn't see any harem last time we were in the temple."

"Uh, well. . . ."  I grumbled and ruffled my feathers; maybe he wasn't the _real_ Bottles, but he could sure make me feel stupid like the real thing.  "I didn't mean he was _literally_ running a whore house in there or anything-- just that he _looked_ like it."

"Why are we even having this conversation?" Banjo asked plaintively.

"Besides, Chicken Legs, who'd wanna screw a girl with a jiggy for a head anyway?" E.B went on.  That was another thing; I couldn't imagine the living Bottles being able to even say the word "screw."

"A _guy_ with a jiggy for a head?" I retorted.

"And so far, I've seen a grand total of _two_ of those," returned Horn-Head.  "So unless he's pimping out girls to himself and his disciple--"

"Geez, forget it."  I stuck my beak under my wing in a huff, signaling that the conversation was over.

"Actually," mused E.B., ignoring me, "he _could_ just be pimping out the disciple."

"I said forget it!" I snapped, but then after I thought about it a minute, I added, "He probably cut out the middle man anyway-- I bet he's just banging the disciple himself."  
  
" _Kazooie!_ " Banjo scolded me with a groan, even as E.B. dissolved into wicked cackles.  "It's late," the honey bear went on  with an attempt at dignity, "and we need to get some rest.  We have to start tracking Grunty again first thing in the morning."

"Right," I sighed, curling up a little more tightly.  "Night, Banjo."

"Good night, Kazooie."  There was only a slight pause before he added, "Good night, Bottles."  Banjo was so kind-hearted, it didn't seem to matter to him that it was Bottles' _evil_ side camping out with us; to Banjo, he was still Bottles.

A few minutes later, we were blessed with the music of Banjo's snores.  I groaned some more and shoved my head as far down under my wing as it would go, but he still kept me awake.  It didn't help that Bottles was glowing like an orgy of red Twinklies.  Finally, I gave up on trying to sleep there; I got to my feet-- which had, ironically, gone to sleep under me-- and tottered over to the temple to look for a better spot to rest.  As I passed E.B., he turned his head to watch me stalk by.  It surprised me at first that he was still awake, but then I realized that I hadn't _ever_ seen this evil version of him sleep.  Maybe when you're dead, you don't _need_ rest.

There was no noise or other sign of life from the temple as I walked past the front doors.  I could still hear Banjo's snoring, and I wondered if he could be keeping his illustrious Jigginess awake inside the temple as well.  I certainly hoped so.

I trotted down the stairs of the temple's plateau and looked around cautiously.  I didn't see any monsters in the vicinity, so I wandered down the path looking for a quieter place to rest.  Finally, I decided the entrance to Mayahem Temple looked safe enough; I climbed up its plateau and settled in against the front wall.  I couldn't hear a peep from Banjo from there, although by the light of the moon, then at its zenith, I could see him in the distance, a dark, motionless bulk beside Jiggywiggy's temple.  There was no sign of Evil Bottles though, and I wondered where he could have gone.

_Not my problem,_ I told myself sticking my head under my wing again.  I think I dozed off, because the next things I was aware of were unfamiliar voices nearby.

"Dat's da bird!"one of them was saying.  I waited, feigning sleep, to see just which bird I was supposed to be.  The beautiful and famous hero, Kazooie, probably. . . .

"You sure dat's da one Mistress Grunty wants stopped?"

Oh. _That_ bird.  I opened one eye stealthily to behold a group of four Gruntlings  just below the plateau, looking up at me.  One of the four was wearing black and standing in front of the others, who wore red; it was he who had questioned my identity.

"Yeah, dat's da one Grunty want!" one of the reds said, pounding a fist into his other hand.  "Gruntlings get her!"

"Hey, _I'm_ da boss here, and I give da orders!" Black, who seemed to have a better grasp of grammar than the others,  snapped as he pounded the underling on the head with his own fist.  Then, to my dismay, he turned back towards the plateau.  "Let's get her."

Playing dead didn't seem to be working, so I jumped to my feet, intending to try making a run for it.  The Gruntlings were faster than they looked, though, and by the time I was standing, I had a red on each side, with the other red and Mr. Black right in front of me.

I hate being reminded that without Banjo, I'm really not that strong-- fast, yes, but when I don't have the height advantage Banjo's backpack gives me, I can't get good leverage to peck or drill at anything.  Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't deign to admit I need help from him-- but being surrounded by Gruntlings with no help in sight was not normal circumstances.

" _Banjo_!" I squawked, even as the Gruntlings moved closer.  I cursed myself for going so far away; there was no sign that he heard me.  _Probably didn't even register over the snoring_ , I thought.

"Don't be afraid, birdie," the talkative red Gruntling chuckled as Black brandished a club.  "Gruntlings no hurt you."

"That's most reassuring," I snapped as I tossed my head, looking for an escape.  _If only I hadn't left the red feathers in the backpack, I could fly!_   I thought, but as the Gruntling leader in black reared back the club, I realized the situation was hopeless.  I squeezed my eyes shut and ducked my head, hoping that getting clocked in the noggin really _wouldn't_ hurt, though I had my doubts.

But nothing happened.

"Go on, boss Gruntling hit her!" I heard one of the reds urge, but boss Gruntling did not comply.  I cautiously opened one eye, then raised my head in surprise.  The big Gruntling stood with his motion arrested, club in mid-air.  Then, slowly, he lowered it, staring at me without seeing me.  It wasn't until then that I saw Evil Bottles hovering above Black's big, ugly head.

"She's not the right bird," Black muttered.  "Mistress doesn't want _this_ one.  Don't touch this one."

"Gruntling _know_ it right bird!" the chatty one protested.  "Same ugly red feathers, same loud mouth--"

Black rounded on _him_ then, waggling the club in a threatening manner.  "You questioning my orders?"

The red cowered in fear.  "N-no boss, not question orders!  Eheh, not at all!"

The leader gave a threatening growl for good measure, then shouldered his club and moved to the Mayahem Temple's doorway, E.B. still floating above him.  "Come on.  We're patrolling in here tonight."

The three reds looked at one another in bewilderment then followed him into the other world, though they looked at me suspiciously as they passed.  When they were gone, I slid to the ground with a sigh of relief, leaning my head back against the wall of the temple.  Evil Bottles had. . . _rescued_ me, _me_ , who was always supposed to be the one doing the rescuing (in tandem with Banjo, of course).  I remembered then all the other times he had possessed the bodies of our enemies, then just _stood_ there, taunting but not attacking.  I had always assumed that he refrained from really hurting us for Banjo's sake. . . and Banjo wasn't there this time.

After a few moments, E.B. re-emerged from Mayahem Temple, shutting the heavy stone door behind him.  _Just wait until we have to ask Jiggywiggy to open it again for us,_ I thought.  _He's not going to be a happy. . . whatever he is._

E.B. ignored me at first, his glowing red form floating serenely down from the plateau and back towards Banjo.  I hesitated a second, then darted after him, hissing, "Hey, Short Stuff!"

He stopped and looked at me, then gave me a grin and came towards me instead of proceeding.

"What, Beaky?  
  
"What'd you do _that_ for?" I demanded.  "Even if you really are on Banjo's side-- and I have my doubts-- you don't like _me._   Why didn't you let them get me?"

He just looked at me a moment, and I almost saw something of the old Bottles therein the eyes behind those stupid glasses of his: something _not_ evil, not full of hatred.  Just something a tad bit impatient but. . . well, caring, nevertheless.

"Same reason Bottles showed you all those moves-- Banjo needs you," E.B. finally said.  Then the semi-serious expression changed back to the usual evil grin.  "In case you hadn't noticed, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer."

"And you're saying I am?" I replied, wondering if I could weasel a comment out of him.

He didn't answer, instead reaching out a glowing red hand to pat me patronizingly on the head.  I darted my beak upward and pecked him in retaliation. . . but not hard enough to hurt. _I'm losing my touch,_ I thought gamely.

E.B. cradled his pecked hand against his chest, giving the ghost-laugh at the same time.  "Not tonight, Chicken Legs," he chuckled.  "I've got a headache."

"Hunh?  What does that have to do with anything?"  For being the sharpest knife in the drawer, I took an embarrassingly long time to understand, and I didn't get it until he was already floating away, back to Jiggywiggy's temple.  I stumbled after him then, feeling my face burning.  " _Hey!_   That was a _peck_ , not a kiss, Dead Boy!"

He swished his pointed tail and chuckled again.  "I know, and that's just how I like you."

I stopped dead in my tracks there in front of Jiggywiggy's plateau and let him drift away, back to where Banjo was sleeping. _He likes me,_ I thought dully.  _He likes me the way I am: sarcastic and harsh and pecky._   I'd thought no one really cared about me except for Banjo, and even he didn't like those parts. . . the parts that defined who I was.

_But it's **Bottles**_ , I thought.  _Bottles who calls me useless, whom I cheat at cards, who fights with me every time we meet. . . Bottles who's **married**_.  And as much as I tried to believe that Evil Bottles was a different entity from the "real" one, I didn't buy it.  A truly evil ghost wouldn't possess enemies to keep them from attacking us, wouldn't act as a light for us through the heart of Glitter Gulch Mine, wouldn't be our constant companion through this insane adventure.  An evil ghost wouldn't. . . but Bottles, _our_ Bottles, would.

And that sucked, because it would be a heck of a lot easier on me if I cared for a truly evil ghost instead of ol' Beetle Breath.

I finally marched back to our camp and went to sleep without sparing a word or look for my red tormenter.  Today, things've been pretty much like normal: we've followed Grunty's tracks, rescued Jingoes, and collected jiggies for his holy goldness. . . and neither E.B. nor I have said a thing about last night.  I guess we probably won't _ever_ talk about it, which is fine by me-- Banjo doesn't need to know that I was stupid enough to wander off alone, _or_ that I let E.B. save my tail feathers.

But still, it makes me wonder.  If Bottles stays dead, what's that gonna mean-- that Evil Bottles is here to stay?  And if _that_ happens, with Banjo and me the only ones who can see him, I guess he wouldn't be going back to ol' Curlers-and-Coffee, now would he?  I can see the rest of my life spent like this, him floating around over our heads, keeping me up at night with his glowing and his laugh. . . and me not minding it, because finally here's a Bottles who doesn't have a problem with admitting he likes me even though he can't stand me, a Bottles who doesn't. . . well, who doesn't bottle things up.  And that's almost enough to make me want to admit the same thing.

But then I look up at him, craning my neck back from where I'm bouncing along in Banjo's backpack.  As I watch, E.B. darts away from us to hover over a nearby Gruntling, who freezes and does not attack as we pass.  And then when we're out of attack range, E.B. returns to his post with that spooky chuckle.  He glances down at me once. . . and winks.

I duck back down into the backpack, pulling the flap over my head to hide from him.  No, in spite of everything, he's still Bottles, and he's still determined to torment me.  For all I know, this could all be an elaborate ruse, some crazy flirtation meant to draw me out just so he can reject me-- and there's no way I'm going to let any man get away with that, especially not _him_.

Despite my loud mouth, I can hide my feelings as good as the next hero. . . so even if I _can't_ put him out of my mind anymore, he's never going to know it.  

\--

The End


End file.
